


Your Very Flesh Shall Be a Great Poem

by Laura Shapiro (laurashapiro)



Series: Leaves of Grass [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Anal Play, Big Emotions, Big feelings, Body Worship, Crowley's self-esteem issues, Established Relationship, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, No Refractory Period, Other, PWP, Switching, Top Crowley (Good Omens), angels have no refractory period, big halo, consent is hot, turning the tables
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-30 15:53:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19406506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurashapiro/pseuds/Laura%20Shapiro
Summary: Crowley’s hands yearned for Aziraphale, to pet him, to stroke him, to squeeze palmfuls of him and make him sing or purr or squeal -- something, make him dosomething.





	Your Very Flesh Shall Be a Great Poem

**Author's Note:**

> This story occurs after the events of [The Wildest Largest Passions](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19299001) but before the events of [Bad as the Worst, Good as the Best](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19239958).

Standing in the hallway of Crowley’s flat, Aziraphale looked rosy and delectable. And Crowley was still not at all used to the fact that he could do something about it.

It had been three weeks since Aziraphale had pushed him against the wall, and Crowley was enjoying every second of their new life, except for all the seconds that made him irritable as hell. The way Aziraphale looked at him flooded him with lust, and it made him want to rip his own face off. The way Aziraphale _handled_ him, systematically destroying Crowley’s frontal lobe with consummate skill and spine-shattering orgasms, while all the time making him feel as though he were doing it not for his own fun but only for Crowley, made Crowley itch for a fight. 

Aziraphale’s hands were on him now, curling interdimensionally into his scapular feathers, making Crowley melt. Hands. Hands were the problem. Crowley’s hands yearned for Aziraphale, to pet him, to stroke him, to squeeze palmfuls of him and make him sing or purr or squeal -- something, make him do _something_. Oh, Aziraphale was deliciously verbal when they were fucking; Crowley had no doubt he was enjoying it. But Aziraphale was somehow never in range. Every time Crowley reached for him, he found himself being fondled by Aziraphale until he couldn’t think (which admittedly Crowley loved), or being fucked by Aziraphale until he couldn’t walk (which admittedly Crowley adored). It was ridiculous, but Crowley felt after three weeks of shagging that he still hadn’t actually laid hands on Aziraphale. Meanwhile Aziraphale was all over Crowley, making him hard, making him need, making him come. Crowley revelled in it, and he resented it like mad.

Yesterday, after a prolonged bout of post- and inevitably pre-coital snogging, Aziraphale had told Crowley he loved him. As if Crowley hadn’t known. As if Crowley hadn’t been waiting around for centuries for Aziraphale to realize it himself. Of course Aziraphale loved him. Of course he loved Aziraphale. These were just facts. But the _way_ Aziraphale loved him was hard to stand, sometimes. Aziraphale praised Crowley constantly. He petted and roused and satisfied Crowley’s body with single-minded purpose. He looked at him not just with ardor, but with _reverence_ , for Hell’s sake. Crowley felt himself chafing under the brilliant glare of all that selfless adoration.

Which was why, when Aziraphale had expressed a casual wish for dinner at a nearby bistro this evening, Crowley had been quick to indulge him, looking forward to seeing Aziraphale focus his delight on something not-Crowley for the first time in weeks. Crowley had watched with a combination of relief, fondness, and arousal as Aziriphale gourmandized on a butterhead lettuce salad with shallot vinaigrette, _moules frites_ , and a couple of bottles of Muscadet, offering bites to Crowley at the end of his fork and groping him under the table. Between the rapturous faces and noises Aziraphale made as he ate, and Aziraphale’s hand wandering in his lap, Crowley was entering a kind of fugue state when the waiter came by to clear the mains.

“What would you like for afters?” Crowley asked as casually as he could, draining what was left of his wine.

“Afters?” Aziraphale said in some surprise, getting his hand under the napkin to stroke Crowley’s prick. Crowley hissed as the sensation zinged through him. Aziraphale leaned over to whisper in his ear, “But my dear, wouldn’t you rather -- don’t you want to go back to your flat?”

Crowley did. A lot. But he was enjoying watching Aziraphale enjoy himself. He wasn’t about to let Aziraphale thwart him, not even for erotic purposes. “Never mind me. What do _you_ want?”

“Oh, do you know, I could fancy a cognac. Some Chateau de Montifaud, and perhaps a slice of the gâteau aux poires...” Aziraphale looked up at Crowley, his anticipatory delight shifting subtly as his eyebrows drew together.

“Come on, angel. Do it. You know you want to.”

“No, no, best not. Just the bill, please,” he told the waiter.

Crowley couldn’t quite rationalize his own annoyance as they stumbled back to the flat, the door barely closed behind them before Aziraphale’s hands were once again all over him. Hadn’t he wanted this for thousands of years?

"Will you stop being so butch," Crowley snapped in exasperation, plucking Aziraphale's hands off his arse.

“Butch!” Aziraphale looked amazed and a bit delighted. “ _Me???”_

“Butch! Or, you know what I mean, you’re so --” Words were annoying. He kissed Aziraphale fiercely, winding his arms around his neck. Aziraphale’s hands made their way to his ribs, and Crowley growled and batted them away again. Aziraphale pulled back from the kiss with wide eyes, his face all concern.

“I--I thought you liked the way I touch you.”

“Oh, angel,” Crowley sighed, “the way you touch me, it’s…” _everything._ “It’s beyond imagining.” He cupped Aziraphale’s jaw, kissed his soft cheek, “You know what you do to me.” Kissed his neck. “Every time.” Licked his ear with forked tongue and felt Aziraphale shiver. This. This was what he wanted. He pulled back to look at Aziraphale, who was regarding him with pleasure and confusion. That was the look, that look right there, that had made Crowley squirm for millennia.

“Crowley, what is it you want? What can I do for you, my dear? What have I not done that I should be doing?”

“What I want.” It was hard to find the words. “Those first few thousand years, angel, all I could think about was how clean you were, and how I wanted to make you dirty.” He sucked Aziraphale’s earlobe for a moment, and Aziraphale gasped. “I wanted to soil you, to tempt you, make you do the bad thing.” He pulled back and looked Aziraphale in the face. Aziraphale’s blue eyes had gone dark, faint lines appearing between them that Crowley wanted to wipe away. “But really it was always you tempting me.”

Aziraphale blinked slowly. His lips parted. “I never meant --”

“'Course you did. You were always trying to make me better. Setting a good example. What angels do, right? Tempting me to better things. And it worked too. But _you_ are the best thing of all, the ultimate temptation.” Crowley kissed Aziraphale’s sweet mouth, deep and hungry, and pulled Aziraphale against him. Aziraphale moaned and reached for him. “Hands at your sides, angel,” Crowley said. Aziraphale made a little frustrated noise. Oh, this was going to be good.

Crowley ran his hands down Aziraphale’s back, skimmed his arse lightly, felt him tremble. “Now I know you,” Crowley said, “and I know you don’t need me to tempt you. You want things just fine without any help from me. And now I don’t want to soil you. I want to _spoil_ you like the greedy bastard you are.”

Aziraphale blushed to the roots of his hair. “Crowley! I’m not --”

“Don’t deny it.” Crowley bit his neck.

“A-anyway, you do spoil me. I feel spoiled whenever I touch you.” Aziraphale reached up to cup Crowley’s face.

“No touching,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale slowly lowered his hands. “I am going to spoil you _rotten._ You want to know what you should do, angel? Stand there and take it.”

Crowley reached up and slowly tugged Aziraphale’s tie until it came loose. He withdrew it from Aziraphale’s collar, and the little rasp the cloth made as it came away somehow made Crowley’s cock pulse. Yeah, he was doing this. He started on Aziraphale’s top button.

“Here, let me --”

“Hands down,” Crowley said calmly, and Aziraphale obeyed.

“Or you could just miracle my clothes off.”

Crowley smiled. “More fun this way,” he said, exposing the hollow of Aziraphale’s throat and regarding the creamy skin with devotion. He licked there with his snaky tongue, then his humanish one. Aziraphale hummed.

“You smell so good,” Crowley told him, “I want to taste you everywhere.”

Crowley removed Aziraphale’s jacket, sliding it slowly down his arms, and fished out a hanger from the coat closet to hang it up. Waistcoat and shirt and vest, with as much patience as he could muster, draping them carefully so they wouldn’t wrinkle. Aziraphale’s lovely pink nipples puckered in the cool air. Aziraphale was sensitive to cold, Crowley knew, so he increased the ambient temperature a few degrees, and then stood for a moment a pace away from him, just looking. Aziraphale’s luminous beauty, the trust and tenderness on his face, made him catch his breath. Then Crowley came forward again, and began to touch.

He stroked Aziraphale’s round, firm shoulders, and down his arms. He petted his smooth back, slipping his fingers briefly into the aether to ruffle the feathers where his wings sprouted, yielding a murmur from Aziraphale, who closed his eyes. Crowley stroked his chest, stirred the soft blond hair there, drew the lightest touch down his arms and watched gooseflesh rise. He kneaded his biceps. He picked up Aziraphale’s left hand and stroked it, examining and exploring the dimpled palm and immaculate nails, then with a wicked smile sucked Aziraphale’s middle finger into his mouth just to hear him gasp. He caressed the small rise of Aziraphale’s belly and pinched his nipples, then fell to sucking each in turn.

Aziraphale’s hands, he noticed, were now clenched into fists at his sides. His breath was coming fast. His erection was tenting his trousers. Crowley was pleased with his work. He went down to his knees and dipped his tongue into Aziraphale’s navel. “Did you ever wonder why She gave us these?” he murmured.

“In -- ineffable,” Aziraphale breathed, “hah! Tickles!”

Crowley moved his mouth to hover an inch or so above Aziraphale’s cock, and exhaled hot breath gently over it through the cotton twill. Aziraphale moaned, and Crowley throbbed all over in response. With great deliberation he looked down and began untying Aziraphale’s left shoe.

“Crowley, really…”

“Sssh.” He got the shoes off, then the socks, placing Aziraphale’s hands on his shoulders to keep him balanced so he could lift each foot. He had never looked at Aziraphale’s feet. They were perfect: white and delicate, yet strong, as though cut from marble. He kissed each toe. Then he stood up, unfastened Aziraphale’s trousers, and swept the last of his garments away. He stepped back, looking.

“What was it we used to say in the Renaissance? You have a good leg, sir.” Aziraphale did, slim ankles, beautifully rounded calves, firm and generous thighs. “I never thought I’d miss knee breeches, but you were absolutely biteable in them.” Crowley slid his hands up those thighs, thumbs along the sensitive inner curves, and felt Aziraphale shaking, heard him sigh. His cock, thick and ruddy, curved out, reaching for Crowley.

Crowley circled Aziraphale and smiled as Aziraphale sputtered in frustration. Crowley had always enjoyed winding him up, but teasing Aziraphale _this_ way, making him hard and longing, was even more fun than he had expected. Crowley kissed the back of his neck, applying his teeth for emphasis, then stroked down to Aziraphale’s magnificent arse. 

“I have been admiring this arse for several thousand years, and it continues to impress me,” Crowley said, massaging it.

“So that’s why you were always circling me,” Aziraphale said. “I thought you were being aggressive, like a cat defending its territory.”

“Nope, just couldn’t keep my eyes off you,” Crowley said, giving in to his own lust for a moment to press himself against Aziraphale’s back. So good. He couldn’t wait any longer. He gave Aziraphale a little nudge and said, “bed.”

Aziraphale staggered for a moment and Crowley put his hands on his shoulders and steered him into the bedroom. He wished away his own shirt and shoes on the way.

He circled Aziraphale again, to face him, and took his face in his hands. Kissed him. Again. Then picked up Aziraphale's hand and placed it against the front of his trousers, an echo of their first night together. Aziraphale sucked in his breath. Crowley hoped he would never be used to how good Aziraphale’s hand felt on his cock. “You feel how hard I am for you?” Crowley hissed in Aziraphale’s ear. “All for you. Now, what do you want me to do about it?” He swung his hips away from Aziraphale before he could get a good grip. Crowley ached for it, but he could not keep the grin off his face as Aziraphale scrabbled at empty air.

“Oh, please, let me touch you,” Aziraphale said. Crowley’s cock filled further, and he whisked away his trousers, crawling onto the bed in his pants and beckoning to Aziraphale.

“Not on the menu, I’m afraid. Come here.”

Aziraphale got on the bed, desire radiating from his face, but clearly he didn’t know what to do with his hands. Crowley pushed him down on his back, got over him on all fours, and then lowered himself, rubbing himself all over Aziraphale, twining around and against him. “Oh,” they both moaned. The press of their bodies together, Aziraphale’s cool skin everywhere on his heated body, Aziraphale’s cock like an iron bar against his own, might have been the best thing Crowley had felt in three weeks of feeling really excellent things. Aziraphale’s arms crept hesitantly around him and Crowley didn’t shake them off, but kissed him, again and again, open shallow kisses while grinding their hips together and touching Aziraphale everywhere he could reach. He got a leg between Aziraphale’s marvelous thighs, lined up Aziraphale’s cock above his hipbone, and pressed. Pressed again, undulating. Aziraphale met his thrust this time, and again and again, building up a rhythm, both their cocks leaking. Crowley was almost painfully hard. Aziraphale was panting now, pouring his sweet filth into Crowley’s ear, “Yes! Like that, oh, you wonderful creature, mm, don’t stop…”

Crowley smiled against Aziraphale’s neck, a greedy bastard himself, clutching at Aziraphale’s shoulders, arms, back, filling his thirsty hands with great quenching drafts of smooth skin. He moved a little faster now, hearing Aziraphale becoming more urgent, and then grabbed Aziraphale’s arse to pull them tighter together. The increased friction sent Aziraphale over with a great cry. “Crowley! Crowley! Oh, fuck, yes! Yes! Yes! Oh, my dear.”

Crowley, buzzing with lust, thanked Somebody for Aziraphale’s dirty mouth. He held Aziraphale tightly through his last shivers and accepted his deep, searching kiss of gratitude. Then he moved down and began licking Aziraphale clean. Aziraphale giggled and pushed at him. “Stop, stop! Ticklish!”

“But you taste so good,” Crowley explained, continuing to slide his tongue through the fuzz on Aziraphale’s belly. He’d stopped trying to classify the fresh flavor of Aziraphale’s spunk. Like the angel himself, it wasn’t like anything else in the universe. Flicking out his serpent-tongue to get more of Aziraphale’s taste and scent, Crowley slid lower and began licking his balls.

“Mmm,” Aziraphale sighed.

“Mmm?” Crowley sucked one of Aziraphale’s balls into his mouth. Aziraphale went very still.

“Oh, that’s nice, that’s --” Aziraphale said. Crowley lazily twirled his tongue around, and around. “Ah! Oh, do that again.”

Crowley felt the impulse to grin an evil grin, but his mouth was full, so he did _that_ again. And again. Aziraphale’s cock was rising again too, bless his eternal desire and angelic strength. Crowley continued to suck and lick at the soft skin, and drew his fingertips lightly along Aziraphale’s shaft. “Mmm, my dear, you amaze me,” Aziraphale murmured.

Crowley gave him light and teasing caresses up and down his cock, nudging at his foreskin, trailing down to his balls again, then back up. Increasing the pressure slightly each time, but never quite closing his hand. He had wanted Aziraphale to want, was making him want, and it was good. Now Crowley wanted Aziraphale to want more, so that he could give it to him. “If you want something, angel, ask for it.” _Please ask me for something, anything._

“Your hand. Take me in your hand.” Aziraphale swallowed. “Forcefully.”

Crowley felt himself swell again at this and couldn’t help grinding his prick against the mattress for a moment. But he wanted to see Aziraphale’s face. He sat up and climbed astride Aziraphale, leaned down to devour his mouth for a moment. Aziraphale met his kiss with a near-total lack of artistry that was new. Something warm glowed in Crowley’s belly. Aziraphale was losing it. He was forgetting to be considerate, even becoming shameless. Crowley was making that happen. He sat back on Aziraphale’s luscious thighs, spat into his palm, and took a firm grip of his cock. A long, slow stroke from tip to base. Another. Aziraphale made a strangled sound and then said, “Please, Crowley, don’t tease me. I can’t bear it.”

Maybe not today, Crowley thought, but soon. He added a little more wetness and picked up the pace, relishing the firm feel of Aziraphale’s length in his hand, the slick-slide of it, the heat and growing urgency he was creating. Aziraphale’s head was tilted back, eyes closed, breath fast and shallow. His short nails dug into Crowley’s shoulders as he thrust into his hand.

“Fuck, Crowley --”

“What do you want?”

“ _More_.”

Crowley stacked his fists on Aziraphale’s generous cock, moving just a little faster and tighter. “Yeah,” Crowley muttered, feeling almost as though it were his own cock he was pulling on. “Have it, angel. Come now. Have it all.”

Aziraphale’s body arced like a bow, lifting off the bed as he sang out and came like a fountain in Crowley’s hands. Crowley held on until Aziraphale fell to earth, then let go as gently as he could, licking his fingers. Crowley draped himself over Aziraphale, pressing his ear to his pounding heart.

“How do you feel?”

“My dear, I feel...positively sybaritic.”

“Quite right too, you bloody great hedonist.”

Aziraphale laughed weakly and did not attempt to argue. Crowley felt Aziraphale’s fingers in his hair, scratching at his scalp and sending electric ripples down his spine. Crowley leaned into it in spite of himself. “So, what do you want to do now?”

“Surely good manners --” Aziraphale began, reaching under Crowley’s waistband for his cock.

“Ah ah ah, angel.” Crowley hauled himself up face-to-face with Aziraphale.

“Crowley! Surely you’ve denied yourself long enough.”

“Aziraphale, I have to say, I love that you are counseling me to forego self-denial and give in to my basest instincts.” Crowley kissed him, glancingly, twice. “What do _you_ want? Do _you_ want more?”

“Of you? Always.” He gave Crowley’s cock a squeeze, began a slow, firm stroke. Damn, his hand always felt fantastic.

“Put that down,” Crowley said with some regret, covering Aziraphale’s hand with his own. “I’ll remind you that there’s nothing I want more than to gratify your most selfish whims. But I will need you to be,” he hissed in Aziraphale’s ear, “specific.”

Aziraphale shivered and swallowed. His soft lips were red from kisses, his bright, mussed hair curled beautifully on Crowley’s grey sheets. His eyes gave that familiar lightning-quick sequence of glances that Crowley now knew to mean desire-shame-regret-desire-delight, all while showing off his long eyelashes and tender smile. Then Aziraphale said, “I want you inside me.”

Crowley lost all his air for a minute. They had never done this.

“Is that specific enough for you?” Aziraphale asked, giving his cock another squeeze. Crowley exhaled and a sensation of smugness slowly crept into him. Aziraphale had asked for what he wanted, and what he wanted was _hot_. Crowley began to get ideas.

“It might be,” he said, sliding off Aziraphale. “Turn over on your side.” Aziraphale did as he was told and Crowley spooned up behind him, burying his nose in Aziraphale's neck.

“But I can’t touch you this way!” Aziraphale complained.

“Exactly.” Crowley bit the back of his neck. He indulged himself in a few moments of thrusting against Aziraphale’s arse, his cock still constrained by cotton-silk blend and dying of frustration. Soon, soon. He stroked down Aziraphale’s back, the backs of his arms, his lovely round arse. He slipped a finger between Aziraphale’s cheeks and heard and felt his stuttering breath as he stroked the tender flesh there. Manifesting some slickness, he continued stroking, then began gently to seek entry. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done this.

“Is it good, angel?”

Aziraphale exhaled deeply. “Oh yes, my dear. Please don’t stop.”

Crowley probed further, felt Aziraphale relax a bit, then more, and suddenly go open deep inside, beyond the tight ring a hot luxurious bath just begging for Crowley to get in. Crowley lifted Aziraphale’s knee over his arm and gave him two more fingers. Aziraphale groaned, “Oh, my Heaven!”

Crowley was so hard he could barely stand it, but the only thing he wanted was to give Aziraphale this. “Do you want more?”

“I-- yes! Please!” Aziraphale was a vision, head tilted back to show the graceful curve of his white throat, kiss-stained lips parted in wonder, sweaty, panting. His.

Crowley was overcome. “Angel,” he said, thrusting his fingers into Aziraphale’s heat, “You can have more. You can have anything you want. I want to give you everything. I want to feed you cognac and cake and kisses and cock until you can’t hold anymore.”

“Oh, _Crowley,”_ Aziraphale gasped. He was beginning to glow, radiating a cool white light as he often did when his pleasure was most intense.

Crowley gently turned Aziraphale onto his back, keeping his fingers in place. He wished a pillow under Aziraphale’s arse, kissed his chest over his hammering heart, then told him, “Pull up those sexy legs.” Aziraphale did so, eyes shut, mouth open, cock half-hard against his belly.

Crowley slicked up his hand and forearm and took a deep breath. Four fingers, that was no problem. “Ohhh,” Aziraphale moaned, and rocked against him. Crowley kept him there for a while, giving an occasional stroke to his cock just to keep it interested. He nudged Aziraphale’s prostate about every third thrust and enjoyed the sharp gasp Aziraphale gave each time.

The thumb, that was more of a challenge. Crowley ransacked his memory, folded his hand, and did a few snaky maneuvers, moving a fraction of an inch at a time. Aziraphale was grunting with each subtle movement now, hands clenching rhythmically on the sheets, his whole chest and belly flushed. Crowley loved to see Aziraphale this way, seeking every scrap of pleasure Crowley could give him.

“Good?” Crowley called out.

“Oh, _God,_ Crowley!”

“You want more?” _Tell me you want it. Take it all._

“ _Yes_.”

Crowley gave him that last quarter inch, turning his wrist as he learned Aziraphale’s body, and his whole hand slowly slid inside Aziraphale. Heat embraced his arm, and a tight ache filled his chest. Crowley had never seen anything so beautiful as Aziraphale in that moment, and had never felt, or expected to feel, anything like this. 

As a demon, Crowley had thought he understood pleasure. Then Aziraphale had taken him, had taken him to ecstasies no demon was meant to experience. Now Crowley was trying to give it back, give back the joy to Aziraphale, who deserved it. And yet in giving it back, Crowley himself felt overwhelmed with joy. Aziraphale’s glow -- all right, his _halo_ \-- crept over Crowley like sun moving across a room, and Crowley forgot to breathe.

Aziraphale had no words left; he was one continuous moan. With great care, Crowley moved his arm infinitesimally, turning, twisting, rocking. Each slight gesture drew great shudders from Aziraphale, and Crowley felt every shudder, every clench, every gasp echoing up his arm and into his heart. And then Aziraphale was coming, cock not even hard but ejaculating all over himself for what seemed like minutes as he heaved great rough breaths with no voice behind them at all. Crowley put his free hand on Aziraphale’s thigh to steady him through it, coursing with wonder as Aziraphale rippled around him in waves that just kept going.

Eventually Crowley became aware of the quiet. Aziraphale’s breathing was slowing and his body had begun to still. Crowley kissed his knee, as it was the only thing within easy reach, and tried not to move. If he could stay like this indefinitely, that would be all right. It was peaceful.

“Cr --” Aziraphale’s voice was a dry rasp. “Crowley. Oh, Crowley. I--”

“Ssssh,” Crowley said. “You don’t have to talk.”

“...Please come up here,” Aziraphale said faintly. “Please.”

“All right. I’ll make this easy, shall I?” Crowley used a miracle to make his arm and hand more pliable, and slowly withdrew. Aziraphale gasped and his cock pulsed a few more times. Crowley found his absence from Aziraphale’s body suddenly unbearable, and was only too glad to scramble up to Aziraphale’s embrace. Aziraphale’s arms crept around his back as Crowley smoothed his curls back from his face and kissed him, again and again. Aziraphale held on, trembling.

“Well,” Aziraphale said after a time, “I seem to have added Sloth to my list of sins, along with Greed, Gluttony, and Lust.”

Crowley grinned into his neck. “That was the point.”

“But, my dear,” Aziraphale said, with a smile he probably thought was dirty but which was just, Heaven help him, cute, “you promised me all the cock I can hold and you haven’t given me any.”

Crowley felt a big stupid grin spread over his face. “You can’t be serious. You want _more?_ ”

“I assure you, I am very serious,” Aziraphale said, reaching into Crowley’s pants. At last, at last, Crowley let him take hold of his cock, hissing as Aziraphale’s hand tightened around his super-heated flesh. After hours of restraint, there was never anything so delicious as that sweet hard grip of him. A few strokes of Aziraphale’s damnably clever hand was all it took before he was groaning and coming all over them both. Crowley shook with delight for a while as Aziraphale wrung it out of him, and then nestled contentedly into his neck. Aziraphale lazily petted his hair.

“You know,” Crowley yawned, “you never did get your pudding.”

“My dear, you’re the only thing I want,” Aziraphale said, kissing his ear.

Crowley smiled. “We both know _that_ isn’t true.” He snapped his fingers. On the nightstand, there appeared a snifter of Chateau de Montifaud, and a gold-rimmed plate bearing a slice of the gâteau aux poires.

The shining smile Aziraphale gave him was everything Crowley wanted in the whole world.

**Author's Note:**

> Deepest gratitude to [Juliet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliet) for beta beyond the call of duty, and very helpful Britpicking.
> 
> Title from Walt Whitman's preface to _Leaves of Grass_ :
> 
> “This is what you shall do: Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to everyone that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown, or to any man or number of men — go freely with powerful uneducated persons, and with the young, and with the mothers of families — re-examine all you have been told in school or church or in any book, and dismiss whatever insults your own soul; and your very flesh shall be a great poem, and have the richest fluency, not only in its words, but in the silent lines of its lips and face, and between the lashes of your eyes, and in every motion and joint of your body.”


End file.
